A Series of Incestuous Events
by sloanwritesstuff
Summary: this is a drabble series for the characters ziva david and ari haswari - i am always taking requests and this will undergo updates periodically. trigger warning: incest mentions; violence; gore; etc. don't like? don't read.


As a federal agent, Ziva David is well aware that getting hurt is just a part of the job. Today, after taking down a suspect, she got cut up and bruised fairly badly – a well-worth consequence, considering he was guilty for the series of murdered petty officers of which the Israeli and her colleagues were investigating. No matter how worried they had been, she played it off fairly well. Her face was slightly swollen around her right cheek, and her arm was nicked pretty badly – he had a rather sharp knife. After finishing up the paper work of which she truly did dread, she made her way back to her apartment – the very place in which her supposedly-dead half-brother called home.

From inside the residence, Ari Haswari could hear a key in the door. He had just gotten home from work about fifteen minutes ago himself, and now that he was freshly showered he was looking forward to seeing his beloved sister. a towel was wrapped around his midsection as he grabbed a bottle of liquor from one of the cabinets. Pouring a glass for her and one for himself, he turned towards the door as it opened. The smile which erupted across his features quickly fades when he sees that she's hurt. As the older sibling, he always felt protective of his sisters – but this was especially true for Ziva. Was it indeed due to the feelings he held towards her? Or was this merely because she tended to be reckless and stubborn – a potentially lethal combination, no doubt. Perhaps both were true.

The glasses found themselves resting places upon the kitchen counter, left abandoned for something – or rather someone – deemed much more important. practically nude, Ari jogged towards her – worry etched in those deep brown hues of his. Ziva let her own gaze go from his face to bare musculature. A breath leaves her – shaky and hard to maintain – as her tongue darts out from between her lips. the doctor's hands, meanwhile, gently go to cupping his sister's face – checking her bruises.

"Oh, Ziva – who did this to you?" His voice is gentle, much like the one he would use with his patients but also different in that it showed a sense of compassion he was only capable of with her.

"It is nothing, Ari, really. Just a suspect we were apprehending, I am fine." Ziva always said that, and it must have been the hundredth time she had said so today. A neighbor who spotted her on her way up to her apartment thought someone was abusing her – unaware of her line of work. It would be quite laughable if not for past circumstance.

"Ziva. . ." His voice was stern then, a warning almost – as if he was imploring her to tell the truth. "Please, let me take a look at your injuries anyway?"

A sigh, a pinch of the bridge of her nose – a reluctant nod; as if to say okay.

"Good, thank you. Let me put on a shirt and get the first aid kit. Please, have a seat. I will be right back."

As he disappeared to the bedroom, Ziva watched him – probably too closely for someone who is related to him. She kept close eye on the way his leg's muscles flexed with each motion, how his rather chiseled back. It took every ounce of willpower she could manage mustering in order to pull her gaze away. afterwards, she walked to the cough all the while pulling off her jacket. the bandage an EMT had put on her arm was no longer there – but the wound was still bleeding, just not profusely. She groaned when she noted the blood stains on her sleeve. A frown comes across her lips as Ari returns, wearing an old t-shirt and knee-length cargo shorts.

"Alright, Ziva, let us see how bad it is." He speaks whilst he approaches her.

"It's not that bad." She's rather insistent.

"So you say, though judging by that cut on your arm – I would argue otherwise, sister." He remarks as he takes a seat beside her. A fractional head tilt as he examines the wound – he is quite pleased to see that despite the lack of bandaging, it is not infected. Opening the first aid kit, he gives her a smile. "I am going to clean this now, it may sting."

She merely nodded, watching as he grabs some cotton balls and antiseptic. The agent pulled her bottom lip between her teeth just moments before he pressed one to her flesh – though she still hissed as it stung. A hand moved quickly to his thigh, grasping it almost instinctively, as if she had grown so accustomed to the act that doing anything else seemed unnatural. However, most would deem that the relationship between them as it were was exactly that; unnatural. They were in fact blood related and society still views such a profound bond between familial ties as a taboo, something to never be done. That did not mean it never was.

"Easy, sweet sister," His voice is merely a warning one, knowing that with her temperament came claws to match.

"I am fine, just – hurry up, please."

Once he finished cleaning the wound, he checked it – making sure it would not need sewing before rummaging through the kit in search of proper bandaging. One perk of being a doctor was that there was quite a decent first aid kit around the house – a necessary thing given his sister's profession. Upon locating some gauze, he dressed the injury with delicate precision before letting his eyes drift to her face. For the bruising, he could not do much aside from making sure the swelling was kept to a minimum. Ginger was the thumb which came up to that very spot on her face, caressing it.

"I ought to get you some ice for that – we do not need it swollen." He speaks, his accent thickening slightly as his eyes danced across her features.

"Yeah, I know. I will in a bit." She replies, voice soft-spoken in manner.

"Any other injuries I should know about?" He asks, eyes searching for honesty as they looked between hers and her lips.

"I," A pause; slight – brief; "I fell on my side, but it doesn't hurt."

Ziva was known for making light of serious things such as these. It seemed she liked playing the role of invincible warrior; though, it was merely out of necessity. Even with Ari, she felt that she had to be strong. What she does not seem to be able to comprehend is that she can still be strong whilst being hurt.

"Let me see."

"Oh, no, you don't have-…"

"Ziva, let me see." His voice is rougher this time.

She let out a sigh as she leaned away from him slightly, lifting up her shirt. She had a rather large bruise – a sprained rib lying beneath them. A pronounced frown comes across his features.

"Ziva…" He sighs, almost exasperated.

"What?"

"Sometimes, I do wish you were not so stubborn."

"You think that would make treating me easier?" She asked, knowing the answer.

"It would make doing a lot of things easier, much easier." He murmurs, his voice nothing more than a breath as he reached over to caress her unharmed cheek.

For the longest of moments, the pair just stared at one another – hues of the deepest browns darting between one other as well as two pairs of eager; desperate; needy lips. Demonstrating much more self-control than her brother, the full-blooded Israeli pulled away before standing. It is then when she notices the two glasses on the counter.

"Ah, just what I need." She remarks, almost teasing him. "Scotch? Or whiskey?"

Ziva cannot tell from the distance, though she walks towards them anyway. Ari watches with curiosity and concern alike, looking from his sister to the glasses and back again.

"Whiskey."

"Ah," She responds, pleased as she picks one up. Propped against the counter, there's a moment of silence as she drinks from it. "I will, er, ice my wounds later. I would much rather just talk with you, if you do not mind."

"I do not – not at all." He smiles, going to the other glass. He picks it up, too. He drinks, all the while not taking his eyes off her. Despite the bruising, and the beginning of a swollen cheek – he finds her beautiful, incredibly and unforgivably beautiful. For a moment, he is reminded of her mother. He is glad that she looked more like her than their father. Though, he playfully covers up that sentiment when he speaks again. "I do hope that your opponent looks worse than you do."

"Oh, yes. I nearly killed him." She says, without pride – but just as playfully.

"Hmm," He muses.

"So, how was work?"

He grinned, setting down his glass before approaching her.

"My shift was a bit mundane, today, actually. If I am to be honest with you, this is the most exciting my day has been thus far." He says this not just because it is honest, but because he wishes to flatter her – to let her know in a subtle manner that any time spent with her after so long apart is indeed more pleasant than anything else. Again, he feels his desire for her rise – the urge to kiss her feeling quite strong in that moment.

"You are just saying that."

"Not just, sweet sister. I am being quite truthful." He said as he keeps decreasing the space between them.

He is close enough to touch her now, with little effort. As he lets a devilish smirk permeate his lips, he reaches out to take a tendril of her hair in his fingers. He feels the smooth curl as he stretches it out somewhat, letting himself linger there for a few seconds before gently grasping onto her shoulder.

"Ari…" Her breathed resonation of his name is much like a warning. She knows as well as he that this was something neither should permit; the touches far too intimate.

"Ziva…" His voice is full of lust; carnal and immeasurable by any means known to man.

"What are you doing?" She asked, again – already knowing the answer.

"Exactly what it is that you and I want to do, Ziva;"

"Which is…?"

"You are far too smart for all these questions, dear sister."

And with that, Ari leaned forward – hand gently going to the soft flesh of her neck. Beneath the skin, he could feel her pulse racing; this without a doubt sent a contentment throughout him that even he – with all his knowledge of medicine and science – could not begin to fathom. A slight smirk came to his face just seconds before he reached her lips, his own meeting with them in a passionate rage of sorts. The impact was so vehement that it sent Ziva back a couple inches, colliding with the cabinet. It took her a moment, but as soon as she could she returned the kiss – one hand finding the nape of his neck and the other grasping onto his shirt. A whimper fell from her lips between kisses – breathing becoming labored; beating heart going erratic; shaking hands maneuvering crazily around his body as she felt him, each and every muscle. It was in that moment that she forgot every ache, forgot the events of the day, and truly lost herself in her brother.


End file.
